Just Another X-File, Right?
by Sapphire7777
Summary: Alfred, as with the other nations, has grown weary of the hidden events of the government. He let that fact take hold of him one day, which was a huge mistake. He is now the prime suspect of an x-file. Will he be able to keep his secret from Mulder and Scully? GENDERBENDS MIGHT BE USED.
1. The X-File of Alfred F Jones

**Author's Note:** ERMAHGEWRD. I'm so happy that I did this. :D I just recently got into X-Files, and I have loved it from the start. I just made it a couple episodes past the first movie! So, as I do anytime I enter a new fandom, I read a couple fanfictions that relate to that fandom. And I thought "Wouldn't it be amazing if my favorite fandom Hetalia and X-Files were combined?" But, when I went to find said crossover, I found that no one had ever made it! So I took it upon myself to correct this wrong. Also, if you're confused, this is set sometime **BEFORE** the first movie. Anyway, I please enjoy, and let me know if you spot any spelling/grammar mistakes so I can correct it! I am human, after all. SAPPHIRE OUT.

**Question of the Day:** I plan on having some kind of pairing with fem!Canada, but I just can't decide between her being with Romano or Prussia. So, what do you think? Which one of the two should she be with?

**Warning: **Genderbends and very mild language will be used. Don't like, don't read.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don't own Hetalia or X-Files. Those wonderful shows belong to their original owners.

**Chapter One: The X-File of Alfred F. Jones**

Alfred groaned and shifted in his mountain of blankets that were all stamped with a proud American flag, the bed moaning and creaking as he did so. The light of day gently tiptoed in, walking through the window and into the large, cluttered room with the quietest of footsteps. It gently moved closer and closer to the blonde man, just crawling ever-so silently and delicately until it finally rested on his face. It poked at his eyes, which caused the man to groan even louder and position his body away from the light. The light, determined to pull the blonde from his slumber and into a new day, tickled his neck and tried to move further down his body where it could spread its warmth. Finally, having finally given up at drifting back into sleep's wonderful embrace, Alfred threw his blankets to the side. He muttered angrily and sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily.

"Ugh . . . Why does the sun have to come up so freakin' _early_?" he murmured to himself in a rather irritated manner. He swung his long legs sideways and jumped off his king-sized bed, the wooden floor immediately voicing its protest with a loud creak as his bare feet connected with it. He stopped for a moment to stretch his arms towards the pale and plain ceiling, letting out a pleased moan as his bones made dulcet popping sounds, then let his arms fall back to their original position as if they had been weighted.

Alfred moved sluggishly through his large room and into the connecting hallway. The hallway itself was nothing special, but the paintings dating back many, many years ago of the founding fathers of America and anyone worth mentioning in American history that hung on the creamy, textured walls gave the hallway a certain feel. It was rather hard to describe, but it almost made one feel nostalgic and solemn.

He continued down this hallway, passing Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, and eventually reaching George Washington as he moved into the next room, coincidentally the kitchen. The kitchen was relatively medium-sized compared to the rest of the house, or more appropriately, mansion. The peach-colored, marble counters were pressed against the right half of the room, only to be interrupted by things like a sink, a stove, a dishwasher, etc. A pantry was blocked off by a simple door beside the left corner and a silver phone rested on the counter near the door. Just as he was about to enter the pantry in search of food, the phone began ringing.

Surprised, Alfred blinked at the ringing phone. Who would be calling him? It was a Sunday, and countries tended to be busy doing their own things on Sundays. Yet, there the phone was, actually ringing.

_"It could always be one of those annoying telemarketers,"_ Alfred told himself, _"or some kind of emergency is about to happen and the White House is calling me. Either way, I should probably pick up the phone and see who it is."_

And so, with that in mind, he reached out and grabbed the phone, clicking the talk button then pressing the object to his ear. "Hello, hero of the world speaking!" Alfred greeted excitedly, talking in grand tones.

There was an irritated sigh on the other end of the line, then a quiet response, "You're not a hero, Al. Bonjour, though."

An awkward pause filled the line. "Um . . . Who is this?" Alfred asked in confusion.

"I'm Canada! Your _sister_!"

"Oh, Canadia!" Alfred exclaimed in realization, his rather teeth-grinding laugh filling the phone and no doubt causing Canada to pull her own phone away from her ear for a brief moment, "I haven't seen you in ages! What's up, Maddie?"

Madeline rolled her eyes and sighed, simply shaking her head at her brother's antics. "Well, that's just it, you see. You haven't been seeing me because I've been sick-"

"What?! You're sick?! Are you okay?"

"Oui, oui. I'm fine. It was just a little fever; I don't think it even had anything to do with my nation. Just a natural virus that even countries will catch now and again," she explained quickly in her shy, whispery voice, "Anyway, that's not the real point, eh! Because I was sick, I missed the last meeting and need the notes over it. I tried calling Britain, Papa, Cuba, Romano, and even Prussia, but they wouldn't answer. That's why I called you. I really need those notes, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Alfred laughed his loud laugh once more as he replied, "Is that all, dude? Sure! We can meet for lunch at my McDonalds!"

"I don't know. I'll have to buy a plane ticket to your place-"

"So it's settled! I'll see you there at 11:30!"

"But-"

"See ya!"

Madeline sighed as she heard beeping sounds fill the phone. Her brother really was troublesome and had a clear ability of _not_ being able to read the atmosphere. Really, how would she ever get through to him?

* * *

"What exactly am I looking at, Mulder?" Agent Dana Scully asked skeptically, raising one of her slender red eyebrows. A face of a young man was displayed on Agent Fox Mulder's white screen by a projector. The man had a boyish face and his eyes made one think that you were actually looking at the sky on a clear day. With wire-framed glasses perched on his nose, the man had a wide, toothy grin. An unzipped bomber jacket covered his torso with a tan uniform peaking out from beneath it that reminded Dana of something her father would have worn once, but that was not the point. What she really wanted to know was what kind of reason this man had to be in the x-files.

"This is Alfred F. Jones," Mulder began, his body resting against his desk, "He was first involved in the 'The Clockwork Case,' which is still unsolved. In Plano, Texas there was a string of murders with seemingly no explanation. In every murder, however, a man named Alex Johnson, a government employee, would turn up. _Of course_, it was merely thought to be a coincidence, but the FBI received a tip from this man.

"He gave extreme details of the case that had not even been released to public, then told the lead detective of the case just where Mr. Johnson fit in to it all. Mr. Jones even offered to lead the FBI to him. Sadly, on arrival to the building, a massive gunfight ensued. Mr. Johnson escaped and when the detective tried to find Mr. Jones-"

Scully looked at Mulder plainly and filled in the rest, "Let me guess. He was nowhere to be found?"

Mulder confirmed the guess with a nod. "Right," the agent responded, waiting for any input that Scully might have before he continued.

"It seems to me, Mulder," Scully drawled out, as if talking to a small child, "that the answer is quite simple. This Alfred F. Jones was involved in the crime and ran for it once his colleague was able to retreat."

Mulder smiled his goofy, lopsided smile at his partner's answer. He had expected that much from her. After all, the case did seem that simple on the outside, but he would explain his thoughts a bit later. For now, he had to finish telling what exactly Dana needed to know about this x-file.

"The rest of the FBI thought so too," he replied, "but it was never proven, so it was put in the x-files. However, new evidence has been found to Mr. Jones's whereabouts." Mulder removed his large pale hand from his pocket and clicked a button on a remote, changing the picture on the white screen. It now showed a picture of a beautiful, middle-aged woman with long, wavy brunette hair. She appeared to be posing for a picture, which made the whole thing seem rather ordinary, but if you were to look at the background of the picture and stared at one of the McDonalds' windows, you saw Alfred F. Jones sitting nonchalantly and eating a hamburger.

"When out with his wife, the man that just so happened to be the lead detective on the Clockwork Case accidentally managed to find where Mr. Jones had run off to, Washington D.C. He actually frequently visits the McDonalds there," Mulder finished off his explanation with a slight snicker to his voice at the silliness of it all.

"I see," Scully said indifferently, the fact not breaking her mask of emotions. "If you don't mind me asking, Mulder, why exactly do you want to find this man? Isn't it a little less unusual than your usual cases?"

"It _does_ rather seem like a simple case, doesn't it?" Mulder turned and walked to the front of his desk, picking something up then walking back over and handing it to Scully. The woman looked down at what had been handed to her. It was a picture of what seemed to be a younger version of Mulder's late father and the suspect of the current x-file.

"While I was reading through this case, I knew I recognized Mr. Jones, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it," Mulder clarified, resting against his desk once more, "so I showed the first picture in the slide to my mother to see if she knew him. She got that picture out from one of the family albums. Now, I might have just dismissed this, but I noticed something strange. That photo was taken thirty years ago, and the first picture in the slide was taken three years ago. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"He hasn't aged at all in thirty years," Scully said, although it was clear she was having a hard time believing her own response.

"That's right. This Alfred F. Jones hasn't aged in a day in thirty years." Mulder's lopsided smile appeared once more. "Does this case seem strange enough now?"


	2. The McDonalds Fight

**Author's Note:** Oh jeez, I am officially BRAIN DEAD. THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO MUCH THINKING, MAINLY SINCE I SUCK AT WRITING BATTLE-ISH SCENES. -Ahem- Excuse that mild interruption. Anyway, I was so pleased at the wonderful response I got last chapter. Honestly, I wasn't expecting any reviews, unless it was criticism, because my writing is CRAP. I am so very thankful for your support, so please, try to keep the reviews coming? They are what motivate me to keep writing. Also, I think I've decided on Prussia being with Canada, but if anyone disagrees, I'll find a clever way to revert it to my original RomaCan idea. Anyway, as always, please let me know if you spot a spelling/grammar mistake, so I can correct it! SAPPHIRE OUT!

**Warning: **Genderbends and very mild language will be used. Don't like, don't read.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don't own Hetalia or X-Files. Those wonderful shows belong to their original owners.

**Guest: **Of course! I am trying to do my best to get these out to you quickly!

**Alice: **Thanks so much! :)

**Chapter Two: The McDonalds Fight**

A man with the brightest of red hair burst out of a golden temple, his chocolate brown eyes wide with terror. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him without dropping the golden object that was tucked safely under his arm. It was clear that the man had stolen the object, as the ape-like creatures that chased after him were yelling and screaming savagely for the item to be returned.

The man, despite the nightmarish yells, kept running. He knew the apes would not spare him, so he had to keep moving until he lost them. He soared over tree roots and large holes, even ducking to avoid being hit by flames. The man was about to jump a large gap in the concrete, but for the slightest of seconds, he hesitated, which lead to to his demise as his body plummeted to the ground.

"Oh, come on!" Alfred yelled in frustration and threw his iPhone angrily on the table. He had never been able to beat Temple Run. He always managed to screw up and either make his character fall to his death, or get eaten alive by those strange monsters that made him think of a mutated monkey. Was there even an end to the game? Maybe that was why he had never beaten it. Yes, that had to be it! The game developers were simply trying to make him think he was not a hero by making the game endless.

"Playing Temple Run again, Al?"

The male looked up at the voice, his blue eyes meeting with those of his sister. Madeline's blonde hair was pulled into pigtails as they always were and fell in gentle waves on her shoulders with her curl poking out from the front of her bangs. Her red and white maple leaf-patterned beret rested comfortably on the top of her heart-shaped head and her matching dress hugged her curves perfectly. She was also relatively tall, only being a fourth of an inch shorter than her twin. Now, when comparing the twins in this state, it would appear that the difference would be easy to tell between the siblings. After all, with Madeline's long hair and violet-tinted blue eyes, how could one ever be mistaken for the other? Well, that is easily explained. During the summer, the Canadian female often cut her hair to just below her chin, making it easy to mistake her for her male counterpart.

"Pfft, no. What are you talking about? I already _beat_ Temple Run," Alfred lied with feigned arrogance, quickly shoving his phone into the pocket of his bomber jacket. Madeline rolled her eyes and sat down on the other side of the booth in the fast food restaurant commonly referred to as McDonalds, obviously not believing her brother for a moment.

"Whatever you say, Alfred. So? Do you have the notes? Don't tell me you forgot them," she asked worriedly. After all, it would not be too hard to believe that he would do such a thing. He was not the most responsible nation in the world, and anyone who said otherwise would be kidding themselves.

Alfred laughed at how easily worried his sister got and responded loosely, "Do you really think that I'm that dumb of a hero? Ouch, sis. That hurts. It really does." He revealed the manilla folder as he removed from the inside of his beloved jacket, sliding it across the table. The female immediately looked guilty and took the folder, letting her shoulders sag forward.

"I-I'm sorry, Al. I didn't mean it," she said meekly and quietly, "I've just been... really tired lately. It's nothing against you; I promise." At the end of this statement, Madeline let out a series of coughs into her fist, her eyebrows drawing together in pain.

Alfred could not help but feel worried at the sight, even if it was something he did not normally do. The coughing made him look at details he would normally ignore. For example, he now noticed how pale and fragile his sister appeared and how taking breaths seemed to be painful for her. His sister hardly ever got sick. She had always been relatively healthy and her nation tended to be the most stable and peace-loving, preventing any sicknesses caused by her people. So, when Madeline actually did get sick, it was often a cause for great concern.

"Yo, you okay, Maddie?" Alfred asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"O-Oui, I'm f-fine," Madeline assured as she regained her breath, though she was still clearly in much pain.

"You're such a bad liar, Madeline," Alfred sighed, actually using his sister's full name, "You're clearly not okay. Even I can tell that. Are you sure that this has nothing to do with your nation?"

The female paused, as if debating if she should continue, then responded, "More and more of the virus is appearing in my nation. My government easily disposes of them, but it almost hurts me worse when they kill them off. I'm having trouble recuperating."

"The virus?!" Alfred grabbed Madeline's soft, almost untouched by the sun hands and looked into her eyes as if it was the worse thing she could have ever said. "Why haven't I heard about this?! You know how dangerous that could be!" he whispered harshly, only barely managing to keep his voice from escalating into a yell.

The Canadian lowered her eyes to avoid her brother's gaze. "I didn't want the rest of the world to freak out because I really am _fine_. Although I'm having trouble with it currently, my government will take care of everything. This sickness is almost gone; it was much worse in the beginning. Gilbert really helped me through it. What really is hurting me is just the fact of knowing that my people are being killed by the people that are supposed to help them."

Alfred closed his eyes and sighed. He knew that fact all too well. Many of the other nations did, too. He relinquished Madeline's hands and sat back, resting his back on the hard surface of the booth's chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he managed a tired reply, "I know, Maddie. I understand how you feel. Sometimes I just feel... old, as weird as that is to say for me, because of how much I realize the government has changed. Sometimes I wonder-"

"Excuse me, Mr. Jones?"

The blonde looked up at the voice, surprised to find a man and a woman. They both wore black business suits, the only difference being that the man had a long black trench coat over his. The woman was fairly slim and had an hourglass figure. She had a stoic, yet almost inquisitive face that was framed by short bright red hair that stopped just below her chin. The man, however, had dark as night hair with equally dark brown eyes. He was very lanky and tall with pale, milky skin. He had ungracefully long arms and large palms that let their thumbs rest inside the man's pockets. Unlike the woman, the man was much easier to read. He obviously tried to keep his face neutral, but his eyes showed that he was irresistibly curious about Alfred.

"Um, yes?" Alfred asked, very confused on who these people were and how they knew his name.

"I am Agent Mulder of the FBI," the man began, taking out his badge as proof, the woman doing the same action in kind, "and you are under arrest for being a prime suspect in the 'Clockwork case' involving Alex Johnson. You will be taken to the bureau for questioning." At this, many things happened at once. Madeline looked at her brother in shock, her violet-blue eyes displaying the question, _'What did you do now, Al?'_ And Alfred, recognizing the name Alex Johnson immediately, felt himself pale. How had the agents before him managed to find him? He had thought that he had covered his tracks perfectly, but he had apparently overlooked a crucial detail. After the thoughts had come in rapid succession from both countries, they felt their bodies move on their own.

Agent Mulder reached out to grab Alfred's wrists so that he could cuff them with the metal handcuffs that he had removed from his pocket, but the American instinctually moved to avoid being cuffed by throwing the side of his forearm into the FBI agent's stomach. Being overwhelmed and caught off-guard by Alfred's inhuman strength, Mulder was sent flying into the wall on the other half of the room as though he were only a rag doll. Simple bystanders in the restaurant screamed in horror at the sight. Some of terrified civilians hid behind tables and counters, while the others ran as fast as they could out of the building. The female FBI agent's pale blue eyes widened in surprise and, though she was clearly tempted to go help her partner on the other side of the small fast food restaurant, raised a black pistol that had so far remained sheathed at her side and pointed it at Alfred.

"Don't move!" she commanded with a stern voice, determined to not let the strange events around her phase her.

Alfred simply ignored the command. After all, what could a gun do to him? He was a country, for God's sake. He was practically immortal unless his country fell apart and dissolved. A gun meant nothing. So, with this in mind, he grabbed his sister's wrist, pulled her roughly out of her seat, and ran. He just _ran_. He heard the click of the pistol's trigger being pulled back then the resounding _bang! _of a bullet being released, but this did little to scare him. He even felt the sting of the tiny metal object entering his shoulder, but did not flinch. Madeline, of course, let out a muffled scream and stumbled, but Alfred pulled her along so that she would not be left behind. That would be the last thing he wanted.

The two ran out of the building, into Alfred's car, then left for the hills, as it were, leaving the FBI agents stuttering to understand all that had just occurred.


	3. Do You Always Have a Theory, Scully?

**Author's Note: ***yawn* I'm so tired because of all the writing I've done. XD And it's only 8:15pm! Anyway, this is a pretty emotional chapter. Slightly filler, but emotional all the same. Oh, and once again, thanks for the wonderful reviews! I find myself more motivated to get these out quicker with each review! I cannot thank you guys enough for reading my badly written story. :) Anyway, as always, please let me know if you spot a spelling/grammar mistake, so I can correct it! SAPPHIRE OUT!

**Warning: **Genderbends and very mild language will be used. Don't like, don't read.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I don't own Hetalia or X-Files. Those wonderful shows belong to their original owners.

**Time Traverser: **Pfft, you know it! Ghosts, though, have somethin' on a hero. Those things are creepy, dude!

**Alor: **O/O Good? Awesome? Eh? Well... Thanks! And I'm trying my best to get these out quickly, but sometimes life gets in the way! That's no excuse, though! :)

**The Thief of Pies:** Well, here it is! Hope you didn't have to wait long. :)

**Chapter Three: Do You Always Have a Theory, Scully?**

There was an awkward silence hanging over the black Impala in which the two nations sat, a bleak dreary grey stretch of road seemingly going on before them for miles upon miles. Alfred looked pale and kept swallowing nervously, his hands twitching on the steering wheel as if he expected some monster to pop up and attack them any second now. It was an odd thing to see the man so jumpy, if he had not been recently watching a horror film, that is. The man was often very oblivious to the world, letting nothing affect him.

Madeline's current state was not exactly nervous, but more scared and worried for her brother. She anxiously peered at him through her wire-framed glasses, her pale hands playing with her dress at an attempt to keep herself from freaking out all together. Just what had Alfred done to get himself in so much trouble with the FBI?

"Y-You're bleeding," Madeline finally spoke, breaking the spell of awkwardness, "You need to have that bullet removed and have the wound b-bandaged. It'll get infected otherwise."

"It can wait. We need to get as far away as possible right now."

"B-But, Al!" she exclaimed desperately. "If your wound gets infected and you pass out, you won't even be able to make it wherever you're trying to go." That at least made Alfred pause for a moment to think. It was obvious that Alfred agreed with his sister. Nation or not, he would not last long with an infected injury. The blond let out a sigh, knowing that Madeline would have to take care of it.

"You're right," he admitted, "There's a first-aid kit in the trunk. You can use it to help the wound once we reach a gas station."

Satisfied for now, the Canadian weakly smiled. "Thanks, Alfred." He did not respond this time, simply keeping his blue-eyed gaze on the desolate road before him.

* * *

An hour later, Agent Fox Mulder, now with a cast and sling on his broken arm, sat at his desk contemplating all that had happened at the McDonalds. How had that man managed to throw him across the room like it was nothing? He had tried thinking of all the possible things the man could be: vampire, werewolf, even zombie . . . but the man did not quite fit the characteristics of any of the races. He was at a complete loss on what Mr. Jones could be, which did not happen very often.

_"I'll have to call_ those _three,_" Mulder thought with a sigh.

"Any theories yet, Mulder?" Scully asked as she entered Mulder's office. The man looked up from uselessly staring at his dinosaur of a computer and leaned back in his chair.

"None as of yet," he responded, "I think I'm going to consult Frohike, Byers, and Langly."

Scully rolled her light blue eyes and crossed her arms. "The '_Lone Gunmen_'? Mulder, I don't think you'll be needing them."

"Oh? Then do you have a theory?"

"Actually yes. I honestly just think you're overthinking this," Scully stated plainly, "Mr. Jones was obviously an extremely strong person, but his jacket covered his arms and torso, which made it hard to determine if he had above average strength. That's why he so easily hit you into the wall. Plus, you're not exactly the heaviest person in the world."

"He sent me _flying_ from one side of the room to the other!" Mulder exclaimed at his partner with disbelief, his voice going up an octave as he did so.

"Seen more impressive stunts at the circus."

"You also shot him at point-blank range!"

"Mulder," she drawled, "There are people, though very rare, that are born without the ability to sense pain. It could be that Mr. Jones was one of these rare individuals, which would explain why he did not feel, nor react to the bullet entering his shoulder."

"You know what, Scully? You're no fun."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Ow!" Alfred yelped indignantly, jerking his now bare shoulder, "Be careful!"

Madeline rolled her eyes and lightly slapped her brother's arm before continuing her stitching. "Stop being such a baby and stay still. It's not my fault that _your_ first-aid kit didn't have a local anesthetic," she chastised, trying to remain focused as she delicately moved the needle through Alfred's skin, slowly but surely closing the wound.

The two were at a Shell gas station that almost appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Alfred had shed his shirt so that his sister could operate on his shoulder with the minuscule tools provided in the white first-aid box. The male had scrunched his nose and looked away during the entire process, almost wishing he had not let his sister take care of his shoulder. Sadly, it was already much too late, as he already had been screaming inside his mouth while Madeline had pulled out the bullet with cheap tools. He really had to remember to get a better first-aid kit, he noted to himself bitterly, or he would be close to passing out from pain each time he decided to be shot.

_"Not that I'm going to plan to be shot,"_ he snickered inside his head wryly.

"All right, I'm done." Madeline sat beside her brother in the opened trunk of the black Impala, changing her calm facial expression into a murderous glare in a matter of seconds. Alfred gulped, feeling the blood drain from his face at the expression. Madeline was like a monster from a nightmare when she wore that expression, and she was even worse when she had her hockey stick. The American shivered at the bad memories that involved being hit many, _many_ times with her wooden hockey stick.

"_Now_, Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, you are going to explain what happened at the McDonalds this _second_, otherwise you will meet a _very_ painful demise."

"The 'F' doesn't stand for Fitzgerald! It stands for 'Freedom'!" The personification of America whined, immediately regretting that he had let those words slip from his mouth. A dark aura formed around the Canadian female, her murderous intent becoming more obvious as she inched towards her brother with her hands ready to throttle her twin.

"Oh, _excuse me_, Alfred, but we both know that isn't true. Now, _explain_!"

Alfred held his arms up in a frantic gesture of peace and made a sputtering response, "F-Fine! I'll tell you! Just calm down, jeeze!" He laid his arms on his lap and looked down, his blue eyes now filled with some unknown emotion. "It . . . happened when I was staying in one of my homes in Texas last year. I'm not exactly sure where it came from, but I was just so angry . . . so fed up and done with the government that I c-couldn't take it anymore. I hated, well, _still_ hate the way everything is hidden from my people. Wasn't it the original idea that the government was for the people? Weren't the people supposed to be in charge and have a say in everything the government did?"

Madeline looked sadly at her brother as he let out a mirthless laugh. She knew exactly what her brother meant. After all, she was feeling the same way. It seemed as if both of their naïve ways were finally being broken down. It had to happen some day, did it not?

"Anyway, I had to let my anger out. I had to fix it, even if was just in a small way, so I went to the police. I happened to know about one of the government employees Alex Johnson being involved with experimental murders and told the detective all about it. I wasn't even thinking about being caught. I just had to tell someone about what the government was doing.

"After this, I offered to help in the arrest of Alex Johnson, but . . . he was _expecting_ us. He had all of his men at his warehouse and began shooting at everyone. Madeline, that _government employee_ was shooting at the detectives! I managed to notice Alex Johnson slipping away, so I went after him and finished him off. I knew the police would suspect me of being a part of the crime, so I deleted and destroyed everything I could find on the case. I thought I had covered everything up, but I now know that I forgot something, whatever that crucial detail was. That's why the FBI is after me, Madeline, and that's why we need to get as far away as possible," the male finished explaining, now looking back up at his sister, "I'm so sorry I got you involved in this. It's all my fault."

Madeline almost felt herself tear up at the sight of her brother in this state. He never apologized for anything. He had always been an oblivious, prideful idiot, but he now seemed to forget all of that. This was not how her brother should be. He should be smiling idiotically and laughing at every comment he deemed unworthy of being even said.

"I-It's fine, Alfred. I w-would have done the s-same in your p-place. I think all of the c-countries would have," Madeline assured, her nearly violet eyes watering.

"Maybe. . ." Alfred muttered, though it was clear that he did not believe it.

"S-Stop being like this, Alfred! You're scaring me! This isn't you! Stop being such . . . such an i-idiot! I don't b-blame you, s-so please stop!" Madeline was crying now. She could feel the salty drips of water gently flowing down her cheeks. Alfred paused at the sight of the tears, an even more intense feeling of guilt swelling up inside him. He had made his sister cry. He could not quite recall the last time he had seen her break down like this. It must have been decades, maybe even a century ago when Madeline had cried like this.

Alfred wrapped his arms around his twin in an attempt to comfort her as he whispered, "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"Y-You better s-stop, y-you jerk!"

Alfred laughed and pulled away, then looked at his sister strangely. "Wait, who are you again?"

"I-I'm Can-" Madeline was about to angrily snap at her brother for suddenly forgetting her, but stopped when she noticed a sparkle in his eyes. She playfully nudged him and made a sarcastic comment, "_Oh_, I get it. That's _so_ funny, Al." Alfred simply laughed, eventually causing Madeline to join in. The atmosphere instantly began to get lighter and lighter to the point of where it would have been hard to remember how dark it had been only moments before. The laughing was suddenly interrupted, however, at the ringing of Madeline's phone.

She blinked in confusion and flipped her phone open as she pressed it to her ear. "Bonjour, this is Madeline speaking."

"Mein gott, Birdie! What is going on?! I just saw you and your brother on the news!" a scratchy, rough voice responded with worry.

Madeline gulped. The voice belonged to none other than her boyfriend Gilbert Beilschmidt.


	4. Not All is What it Seems

**Author's Note:** Okay... This chapter is kinda lame. Mostly filler with plot hints. Uuuuuuuugh. Though, I had a bit of fun with the first segment of this chapter. The title of the newspaper that said "RADIO SAYS ADOLF HITLER DEAD" is true. I have it because my grandfather kept it. :) Lol, there's your interesting factoid for the day. Anyway, I apologize for how boring this chapter is. DX At least I put some Cigarette-smoking Man references in here. That aside, if you catch a spelling/grammar mistake, let me know so I can correct it! SAPPHIRE OUT!

**Warning: **Genderbends and very mild language will be used. Don't like, don't read.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I don't own Hetalia or X-Files. Those wonderful shows belong to their original owners.

**Time Traverser:** YOU KNOW IIIIIIT!

**Sindy Beilschmidt:** Thank you! Honestly, I've always thought that I was bad at writing action, so that's a huge compliment!

**Chapter Four: Not All is What it Seems**

"So what have you got for us?" Mulder asked the members of _'The Lone Gunmen.'_ The three said men were huddled near one of their monitor screens with different pictures displayed upon it. Langly was the first to wave Mulder and his partner over, a slightly excited grin upon his face.

"You're going to love this, Mulder," said the straw-haired man, "We started doing some research on that name you gave us. At first, we couldn't find anything on him. It was like you had just given us a dummy name that didn't really belong to any living person."

"Then we stumbled onto an old news article," began Frohike, the short man's gap-toothed grin spread plainly upon his face, "dating back to _1920_." Both Mulder and Scully rose their eyebrows in mild shock. They had both known that this Alfred F. Jones had a strange ability not to age from what they had seen, but they did not know to what extent this ability could have on the man given a period of decades.

The short man handed Mulder the old newspaper they had found, the paper so aged and unkempt that it almost appeared that the slightest shake would cause it to fall apart.

The agent's dark, pooling eyes scanned the circled article, his pale lips moving as he read the article aloud, "_Stranger saves a child and his faithful pet from an almost certainly horrible demise. Late last night in our humble town of Boston, little Jonathan Whites and his dog Rosie were out for an ordinary day of fishing in their secret spot._

"_ 'Rosie and I always go out there,' says Jonathan, 'It has the best fish, but no one knows about it.' Jonathan was just finishing up his fishing when he slipped and fell into the secluded body of water. The boy tried to swim back to land, but his feet got caught on some kind of debris that kept him from being properly able to keep himself up. Rosie had jumped in after Jonathan had slipped and she too became trapped in the still unknown debris. Both Rosie and Jonathan would have surely drowned if a random stranger, who identified himself as Alfred F. Jones, had not heard the boy's cries for help. After helping the pair out of the water and bringing them to the boy's parents, Mr. Jones left and has yet to be seen again._"

"So this Mr. Jones has a habit of disappearing from the face of the earth," Scully said with an irritated groan, "That makes everything _so_ much better for us."

"After we found that," began Byers, "We started digging up things all over the place. We found tons of articles like the one you read. Mr. Jones would save someone, then vanish without a trace."

Frohike nodded in confirmation before continuing Byer's thought, "The guy sure gets around too. We found mentions of him in at least every state. What really shocked us, however, were the dates. Some of them were in the eighties, others in the thirties, and some even dated back to the 1800's! This guy really has an incredible life span."

"The 1800's?!" exclaimed Mulder, "That's amazing."

"And we also managed to find pictures of when Mr. Jones apparently was in World War Two." Frohike gestured to the monitor screen that had so far been paid little attention too. It showed a black and white picture of Alfred grinning next to another woman, who was scowling in what looked to be an old British uniform. Another picture showed Alfred laughing at the scowling woman, who was in a hospital bed this time with bandages and bruises strewn across her body. The last one was a photo of a grinning Alfred with a newspaper in his hands that had the bold print that goes as follows: **'RADIO SAYS ADOLF HITLER DEAD.'**

"While this is all very interesting, have you found anything that might actually help us find Mr. Jones?" asked Scully, crossing her arms a bit irritatedly.

"And have you found out anything on what this Mr. Jones could be or have that would allow him to have this incredible life span?"

"So far, we haven't found anything specific, but I can give you a list of the most frequent places he's been. Maybe you'll be able to find him at one of those places," Langly offered, "And as for what he is, that's a bit more complicated. We don't have enough information to conclude what allows this man to live so long. If you find anything, though, be sure to tell us. We'll do our best to help out."

* * *

"G-Gilbert!" exclaimed Madeline awkwardly, trying to sound calm, "Everything is _completely_ fine. There's nothing to worry about."

"Everything is _fine_?" said the disbelieving voice on the other end of the phone call, "You were on the _news_, Birdie, being dragged off by your idiot brother at an attempt to not be caught by the FBI. What kind of crap has your stupid twin pulled you into?"

Madeline frowned at the comment and snapped back, "Stop calling him an _idiot_, Gilbert. He's my brother. And I'm fine, I just — I'm not sure if I should or _can_ explain what's going on right now. It's all complicated." Her violet-blue eyes flicked towards her brother who pouted at the knowledge that he was being insulted.

"You don't sound all right to me, Birdie. Are you sure you're okay? Is . . . " the man paused, knowing that the conversation might be overheard, "Is _it_ okay too?" Immediately understanding what the man meant, Madeline's fingers, tempted to touch the thing in question, twitched, but managed to remain in place.

"Oui," she said a bit softer, "Everything is fine."

"Madeline . . . Please tell me what's going on. I'm worried."

Madeline felt her heart clench guiltily. "Gil, I can't—" Before she could even finish, Alfred snatched the phone from his sister's hands and pressed it to his ear.

"Thanks for the _kind_ comments, Gilbo. If you want to _really_ meet up with us, go to Selkinah, New Mexico. It's an old abandoned town. You'll know it when you see it. It looks like a western town from the movies."

"What—"

Just as Alfred was about to be questioned by Gilbert, the man shut his sister's cellphone, ending the call. He threw the object to Madeline, the female catching it then stuffing it into her pocket. She preceded to blink at her brother, looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Selkinah? I remember you talking about that place . . . Why are we going there, Al?"

Alfred sighed and stood up, putting his shirt and bomber jacket back on then ushering his sister to stand up as well. "It's a nice place off the map without any electricity or cameras to spy on us. I'll have Gilbert pick you up. I'll just wait until this whole thing cools down, then delete everything the FBI has on us," he explained as he shut the trunk of his car.

"I'm not letting you do this alone, Al!" Madeline snapped stubbornly.

"You'll have to convince that boyfriend of yours to let you stay, then. Though, he probably will be on my side," Alfred responded, moving to the front of his car, "Plus, it will be extremely hot there with no air conditioning or anything. It wouldn't be good for you." He opened the car door and sat down in the seat, buckling his seatbelt. Madeline repeated her brother's actions, a puzzled frown upon her face.

"Not 'good,' for me? If you're referring to how I was recently sick, I am _completely_ fine now. I'm not even coughing." She crossed her arms and sat up taller as if to make a point.

"That's not what I meant." He looked a bit sadly at the female as if he knew something that she did not, then laughed the expression off. "Never mind, but I really don't want you getting into this."

_"Too bad."_

_"You're so frickin' stubborn."_

_"And you're an oblivious idiot."_

A man, probably in his fifties, laughed at the radio in front of him. The twin's heated argument continued to shoot back and forth until the point you would never be sure who would truly win the fight. The man's hair was graying and the first appearance of wrinkles had begun to distort his face. Though tough wrinkles around the eyebrows seemed to indicate that the man frowned more often than not, an amused smile was now upon his face.

"This is definitely an interesting experiment, leaking out that information to Mulder and the FBI after we had tagged them with those microphones."

The other man in the room nodded. This man seemed much taller and thinner with wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He pulled a cigarette from his mouth, blowing the toxic smoke afterwards. A plastic smile pulled the edges of his lips upwards while his free hand rested comfortably in his pocket.

"It certainly is. I can only wonder if Alfred will find out that we were the ones who let the information out, and if Mulder will find out what the lad truly is," he said in a silky, amused tone.

"Only time will tell."

"Indeed."


End file.
